Crime (h.s. au)

Chapter Thirty Eight

(T/W, mention of self-harm)

Ava

"Hello Lieutenant," John says on the other end of the phone.

"How are you?" I ask, smiling as I talk to him. I haven't spoken to him since we performed the autopsy of Victoria Peters.

"I'm good. Listen, I was wondering if you could stop down here and help me with an autopsy. The victim just came in from New York and I figured I could use your assistance if you're not too busy," he suggests, and I agree.

"We had just finished a case and I've been in contact with just a few people on their problems. Nothing extremely serious so I'll come down soon," I tell him, saying our goodbyes before I hang up the phone.

I send out an email to one of the officers to follow up on a home invasion call, and I pack up my bag. My feet carry me to the Chief's office and I knock on the door.

"I'm going to go work with John. He called me to assist him," he tells me, and he nods his head.

"Sounds good. Harry's working on a cold case right now so I think you should be alright," he tells me, and I feel my body stiffen slightly at the mention of Harry's name.

"Okay. I'll see you later," I tell him, walking out of the office. I get into my car and start it, driving down the street.

There is so much distraction right now. It's evident as to why I haven't done this before; been with someone in a way Harry wants with me. He wants to be exclusive, and the only way I could come up with an agreement is for him to not question me; get to know me on levels that most relationships are based in. My past is something I intend to keep there; I don't want him to know what I had done when I was younger, even if he was involved.

The morning after was one I wasn't expecting. It was relaxed and he spent time with me after I had done yoga for nearly an hour. No one has ever joined me before and I found myself enjoying each minute. We're growing close and it's a closeness I'm not used to. That's what I'm beginning to fear the most. Growing close leads to vulnerability, and I've found myself faltering on a few occasions. It pains me to think that my walls could potentially crack; walls I've spent years building. Harry is the only one who has ever came close to throwing a rock at them.

Thinking about how we were the other night, consumed by each other, was something out of a romance movie. I haven't watched many, but it seemed similar to the ones I've seen. Harry never once acted the way men I've been with. It was new, it was different, it was perfect. And it feels so weird. The emotions swirling within me are unbelievable and I don't know what they are. Putting words to what I feel, whether it's in my brain or in my heart, have lacked in my nearly 26 years on this earth.

I park at the coroner's office and I walk in, saying hello to the receptionist. My feet carry me down the hall and I change into the protective garments, walking into the room.

"Ava, so good to see you," John smiles, his hands pressed to the body's arm.

"What's the situation?" I ask, walking to observe the body. There are lacerations on the torso and arms, but I take note to the length. His forearms have vertical cuts, almost as if he was trying to place harm to himself.

"He's 30 years old and his roommate found him lying in a pool of blood in their apartment. The roommate was out of town at the time and found him in the bathroom," John tells me, and I frown. It's an unfortunate sight to see when you come home. There's fear that instills in the one who finds the victim.

"Foul play or potential suicide?" I ask, and he lays the arm down.

"With the depth of some of the lacerations, it's foul play. It seems to be an attempt to make it look like suicide. A poor one at that," he tells me, and I put on a pair of gloves.